ELEVEN days from now I’ll be
From homestead putting out to sea,
And as the vessel shapes her course
What shall I feel? Regret, remorse
For opportunities let slip?
Or joy to be upon the ship
That carries me from failures past
And open out horizons vast?
Eleven days for me to take
A kind of stock, and time to make
Some preparation for the sake
Of those whose chief anxiety
Is lest my faulty memory
Should cause me to depart and leave
Some vital thing, and thus them grieve.
As for my wardrobe I’m complete,
I’m kitted out from head to feet,
I never will have such a store
Were I to live to ninety four.
I only with my grey-celled brain
Could hold as much as trunks contain.
So in a week and barely half
I’ll wave a banner (woollen scarf)
In fond farewell to every friend
Who to the pier their way will wend.
12. 9. 1927